Page 65 of Love, Literature, and the Linebacker

Support him. Stand beside him. Go wherever he goes.

I’ve spent most of my life anchored to one place. One rhythm. One predictable horizon. The thought of leaving it all should scare me.

And maybe it does.

But being with Dylan feels bigger than geography. Bigger than comfort.

Still, somewhere beneath that confidence, a quieter question whispers…

Would I still recognize myself in a life built around his dream?

Bill offers me a reassuring smile from across the table, but it does little to settle the stress radiating off Dylan. I can feel it in the way his hand grips mine, as if he’s bracing himself against something unseen. We’ve only just begun. We just admitted how deeply we feel. Everything still feels tender, newly formed.

Ray seems to sense the shift in the room and lifts his eyebrows. “I didn’t mean to put anyone on the spot,” he says smoothly as the waiter arrives with our drinks. “But having a strong support system matters. Especially for someone with Dylan’s kind of potential.”

The waiter sets a glass of ice water in front of me, but I barely register it. My thoughts are tangled in Ray’s comment, looping back again and again. Support system. Potential. Wherever he ends up.

The reality of what a professional football career could mean—for Dylan, for us—makes the future suddenly concrete.

The rest of dinner moves quickly, blurring together in fragments. Dylan talks animatedly about his goals, his passion unmistakable as he describes what it would mean to play at the next level. His answers become more confident and precise.

Inside, I’m unraveling.

Unease gathers beneath every answer, growing harder to ignore. The composure I’m holding together feels as though it might splinter if I look too closely at what he’s saying. Instead, I focus on the crisp white napkin in my lap, smoothing its edges as if I can press my fears flat the same way. I smile when I’m supposed to. I nod at the right moments. All of my energy is spent keeping myself together.

Dylan glances at me twice, concern sharpening each time. I give him the smallest nod I can manage. Not now. This is his night. About something he’s worked tirelessly toward. I won’t let my uncertainty cast a shadow over it. Still, as he talks about a future that may pull him far from everything familiar, I feel like I’m standing on the edge of something vast and unknowable.

“I’ll be back for next Saturday’s game,” Ray says.

“Think we’ll finally get you into the stadium, Lucy?” Bill’s voice cuts through my thoughts, gentle but direct. I look up, startled, and find him watching me with an easy smile.

“I—sorry,” I say quickly. “What was the question?”

“Will you be at the game next week?” he asks again.

The invitation affects me more than it should. I blink hard.

“Yeah,” I say, my voice quiet but sincere.

I haven’t been to one of Dylan’s games since we started dating. Crowds, noise, attention—none of it has ever been my world. But Dylan has always made room for me, always met me where I feel safest. If he’s stepping into something new, then I can, too.

“Really?” Dylan’s face brightens, hope flickering across his features.

“Yes,” I repeat, this time with more conviction.

Ray chuckles softly. “First game?”

“She prefers the library,” Dylan says fondly. “She usually watches on my laptop.”

Ray watches me for a second longer than the question requires. “Not big on crowds?”

“Crowds overwhelm me. I’ve been working up to it,” I answer carefully. “But I’ll be there.”

He nods, seemingly satisfied, and turns his attention back to Dylan. “How long have you two been together?”

“A little over a month,” Dylan replies without hesitation.

“They’ve just started dating, Ray,” Bill says with a sigh. “Let them make it through dessert before assigning moving boxes.”